


From the Diary of Himura Shinobu

by SalazzleDazzle



Series: Of Crows and Coyotes [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Cosmodrome, F/F, Gen, House of Kings, Mild Language, Old Man Rasputin, Six Coyotes, Slow Burn (kinda), Temporary Character Death, early City Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazzleDazzle/pseuds/SalazzleDazzle
Summary: A wandering Guardian discovers the seventeenth and final diary of Himura Shinobu among the ruins of Coyote, the legendary town just outside the Cosmodrome. And within lies every Warlock's dream: a primary source for one of the most fabled legends in Destiny's history.Within the journal lies the musings of Shinobu both before and after becoming a Guardian. How the House of Kings become a threat to an inoffensive little town, how a couple Guardians take the townsfolk under their wing, and bring in a crew of Hunters that would go on to become legend.We've got everything! Alcohol induced gambling between Hunters! Campfire stories! A budding romance in the face of death! A Warmind raining fire from the sky! And enough Fallen to repopulate Riis!And of course, the (re-)birth of one of the most powerful Hunters of all time: Shinobu.
Relationships: Himura Shinobu/Nadiya
Series: Of Crows and Coyotes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772311
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. A Town Named Coyote

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Welcome to the big show, the story I've been working towards for months now: the legend of the Six Coyotes! This is the fourth story in a series focusing on Nadiya, one of the six legendary Hunters, but this is a great place to jump in fresh for any new readers! The previous entries can be seen akin to an extended prologue.
> 
> I'm really excited to be writing this, and I hope you all enjoy. The Six Coyotes have some of the coolest vague lore implications in Destiny's history, so I want to explore it since Bungie apparently have no interest in doing so. Though we did get pre-exo Micah-10 with the penguin lore book in Beyond Light, the Coyotes simply don't have relevance to Destiny's big Darkness problem at the moment.
> 
> But no matter! That's what I'm for!
> 
> Thanks for even reading this author's note, and please give any feedback you want. I'm going to be trying to upload quite a bit in the next month or so since I'm off from college temporarily, so expect quite a bit of material.
> 
> Finally, 'major character death' goes beyond that of Guardians dying and being resurrected repeatedly. Figure that should be specified considering the nature of how death works in these games.

As the sun rose over Old Russia, the world was bathed in orange. The rusting ruins of the Cosmodrome shone weakly in the light, a perfect reminder of this place’s quiet majesty. The whole complex remained a monument to the old world’s technological ingenuity. A great wall that seemed to stretch on forever showing fortitude. The towering rockets, a dormant signifier of humanity’s ambition to reach for the stars.

And the masses of cars and planes, discarded by the incredible populations that migrated here. Now, the vehicles were wreckage, grown over in some places, becoming one with the terrain. Millenia of gradual industrialization undone over time, leaving nature to reclaim the Golden Age spaceport.

In these twilight hours, the Fallen slowly left their grottos to scavenge or patrol. They sent shanks out of their caves or plane chassis first, who floated about aimlessly. Canaries in a coalmine.

“Easy does it. Don’t tip them off.”

The shanks bobbed their entire bodies, ensuring their masters that the way was clear. The first lowly dregs popped their heads out from cover accordingly, gripping shock pistols with a feverish intensity. Their four eyes darted around frantically, looking for any sign of danger. Perhaps the Cosmodrome was a haven for these Devils a short while before, but increased Guardian patrols and the opening of the Skywatch had unleashed plenty of adversity for the Fallen.

Two, three, four dregs scampered out of the wreckage. Kristof eased his gloved finger onto the scout rifle’s trigger. Not much longer now…

And finally, the party’s leading captain climbed out. The hulking figure was comparatively more slow and deliberate, nowhere near as paranoid as the dregs under its command. It gripped its shrapnel launcher loosely, letting it hang towards the ground at its side. A deep breath of ether offered sustenance as it greeted the morning sky.

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready, Guardian.”

Kristof took a long blink and a slow, deep breath before aligning his sights on one of the dreg’s heads once more. A test of dexterity. With what he’d done thus far, this couldn’t be hard.

“Ready.”

The first squeeze of the trigger seemed to fight back, the old scout showing its age a bit. Not quite jamming, however, as a loud crack sent a bullet screaming towards the first dreg fifty meters away.

 _Pop. Pop pop pop._ That’s all four dregs, wisps of ether bursting from the ghostly remains of their heads. The captain flinched, circling around in a frenzy, while the shanks zipped around in simulated fear. He’d have to be swift with these next few.

A couple shots each for the shanks is enough for them to burst into pieces. Kristof exhaled, picking himself off his stomach and taking a knee. He loaded another magazine into the rifle. “That’s everyone but the captain.”

“4.62 seconds,” Ghost replied within his head. “You’re getting quicker.”

“Great,” the Guardian breathed, letting the scout dissipate away thanks to Ghost’s transmatting. “Guess I should go finish the job, huh?”

“Don’t want our Devil friends to think they’re being picked off by phantoms,” Ghost said, following up with a glitchy hum. “Though given time, the Devils are going to get less afraid and more angry. You’ve done a number on them in such a short time.”

“Well, let’s make sure they’ve got one less captain for when they _do_ get angry,” Kristof said, rising to his feet. “The fusion, if you will.”

“For sure,” Ghost said, the energy weapon appearing in the Guardian’s hands accordingly. “Just remember, it’s got a lot of recoil because of the bolts all firing one after the other. Just keep your aim steady.”

“I think I’ll be fine.” Beneath his helmet, Kristof couldn’t help but grin. So far, the Fallen had barely proven a challenge. The Hive, somewhat. But he’d only really dealt with thrall and acolytes. If what Ghost said was true…

The thought escaped him as he leapt off the cliff overlooking the Mothyards towards the plane wreckage below. The descent sent his robes flapping in the wind before he effortlessly stopped his fall in midair. The concept of gliding had been intuitive from the moment he was resurrected, but Kristof couldn’t deny its strangeness in action.

Regardless, the Warlock floated down towards the captain. The Devil roared, its glowing blue shield crackling with electricity around its body. Snarling, the captain readied his launcher, and fired.

Kristof stopped his glide, plummeting the last few feet to the hard soil. He braced himself with a free hand as he felt white hot lead zip right over his head. That left him plenty of time to pull the charge on his fusion rifle and point. The captain readjusted its aim, but was too slow. The rifle’s coils glowed blue, before erupting arc energy towards the captain.

“Shit!” Ghost hadn’t lied about the recoil, which send a wave of rigidity up Kristof’s forearms. The last few bolts of electricity flew off towards the sky, but those that did connect had done significant damage. The captain’s shield had exploded, and it clutched its chest with two spindly arms. The arc damage effectively cauterized whatever wound the fusion rifle had left, but that couldn’t help with the overwhelming pain.

Pain rarely put the Fallen out of commission, however. The captain spat something hostile, and stumbled forward towards Kristof with the shrapnel rifle held by the muzzle. It raised the weapon erratically, preparing to swing it down on the Guardian violently…

 _Fwoosh_. An energized palm slap was enough to rip the captain from existence, leaving behind purple tendrils of void Light in its wake. Kristof flexed his arm, whatever pain he’d felt instantly vanishing, and through no help of Ghost’s. Killing the captain had healed him, somehow.

“Woah,” he muttered, clambering back to his feet. He clenched his fist, trying to feel for a difference. He’d been able to harness the void to throw grenades, but that’d been under Ghost’s instruction. This was new, and had come surprisingly naturally.

Ghost seemed intrigued, too, cascading into existence with a wave of white sparks. “Wow! You devoured it!”

“Devour?”

“It’s an ability integral to most Voidwalkers. I just didn’t expect you to inherently know how to.”

Kristof raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. “I thought you said the Light was all instinct to a Guardian.”

Ghost spun his white shell in excitement. “I know, I know, it’s just awesome seeing it in action. You’re really coming into your own!”

Kristof supposed that last bit was true. It had barely been a week since Ghost had found him here in the Cosmodrome, and the Warlock had already accomplished a lot. At least, according to the Guardians he’d met back in the Last City. Superpowered warriors of Light were supposed to showcase their brilliance in the field, but Kristof was apparently exceptional for a ‘kinderguardian,’ as they called him.

He’d found a ship back to the Last City, gotten acquainted with this new life fairly quickly, and then had returned here to the Cosmodrome to acquire all the basic tools of a new Guardian. A warp drive for his ship (because they were apparently quite expensive to retrofit into an Arcadian class model back in the City), some better armor he could scavenge instead of buy, and of course experience.

The last bit, he’d maybe gone overboard. For in that first week, he’d slain an Archon of the House of Devils (apparently a big deal), found that the Devils were hiding the presence of a Hive seeder ship in the Cosmodrome (apparently _quite_ a big deal), and had discovered that the ancient Warmind Rasputin was still alive and well to some capacity (apparently the biggest deal of all).

Now, this corpse of a spaceport was a bastion of Guardian activity. The Hive being let loose from the Skywatch and Rasputin supposedly having a presence had garnered plenty of Vanguard attention. Now, Kristof’s lowly place to train had been combed over by Guardians. Patrol beacons had been set. Updated maps had been charted, with battle lines drawn between the Hive, Devils, and another Fallen house, the Kings.

It was rather too much for Kristof to comprehend. He’d really just wanted some target practice before he felt ready to take on official Vanguard assignments. Now, it seemed he didn’t have to leave Old Russia to help the war effort. Even though his ship was outfitted with a decommissioned warp drive, there was apparently no reason to ever leave the Cosmodrome.

Kristof simply sighed relief at the brief exercise being over. This small group had never stood a chance. And his marksmanship was certainly improving. Despite all his accomplishments, Ghost seemed paranoid about his Guardian being as prepared as possible. And despite the ease with which he’d handled everything thus far, Kristof understood.

“Well, what now?” the Warlock said, patting away dust on his gray robes. “Too many Guardians around for the Fallen to be out and about. Plus my shooting probably scared what was left of them off.”

Ghost raised his upmost fins in an approximated shrug. “Maybe we can go grab a patrol beacon? Just to keep you active before any big orders come in.”

Kristof didn’t have any alternatives, so the two ventured forward towards the opposite side of the Mothyards where a City beacon laid. Though only the Guardian was visible, of course. Ghost blinked out of existence, protecting itself from potential harm for obvious reasons.

The journey only took a couple minutes, but it went by like nothing. Sure, Kristof could zip over on his sparrow in just fifteen seconds, but what was the urgency? He’d only been alive for a week – the simple pleasures failed to escape him. The light rustling of dead leaves swept along by the wind, distant echoes of birdcalls mixed in with roars of the Fallen. Though Hunters certainly had a knack for that sort of thing, all Guardians had increased senses over the average person. Why not enjoy it?

The patrol beacon was nestled against the hull of a massive jet, blinking green relatively quickly. Ghost appeared and zipped over to it, scanning for a moment to accept whatever job was coming their way with some sort of electronic magic.

Within seconds, a recorded message played in Kristof’s ears as if he were wearing headphones. “Guardians! This is Arach Jalaal of Dead Orbit. I humbly request you receive this salvage mission and act on it.”

“Bit of a leading question for a recording,” Kristof muttered to himself.

“Though Guardian activity has spiked within the walls of the Cosmodrome, we actually request that you move back outside it. South of the main complex lies the remains of the town Coyote. Now that Fallen activity – and apparently the Hive wretches as well – is confirmed to be mainly isolated within the walls, there is work to be done in Coyote.

“No doubt you’ve heard the legend. But our surviving Coyote is… well, _sparse_ on the details. So if she will not provide information, then _you_ must! Versions of the story indicate certain rocket chassis not otherwise present in the Cosmodrome landed in the town during the old tale! Technology predating the Golden Age, even. We at Dead Orbit would appreciate a search mission for said technology, and if the need arises, a salvage operation for us to further study pre-Golden Age ballistics. Interstellar, or otherwise.”

The feed dropped, and Ghost whirred in excitement. “Coyote! Honestly, I forgot that that was just outside the Cosmodrome! I could feel your Light so strongly when I arrived here that I never bothered sight-seeing!”

“What’s Coyote?” Kristof asked helplessly, holding a hand out for Ghost to drift back into so they could talk face-to-face. “And I didn’t think you were one for _sight-seeing_.”

If Ghost could scoff, he would’ve. “It’s only one of the most famous towns in Guardian lore! Honestly, you’re really behind on a lot of things. Especially for a Warlock.”

“Mind filling me in then?” Kristof’s scout reappeared in his hands as a waypoint appeared on his helmet’s head-up display courtesy of his partner. “You seem like you want to tell a story.”

“Do I ever!” Ghost replied, evaporating from the air once more as the Warlock’s sparrow appeared beneath him. “Though most of it is legend. I think I can get the gist of it right…

And so Ghost explained what he could of the Six Coyotes while Kristof made his way back towards the wall. The path was practically backtracking the way through which he’d escaped the Cosmodrome when he’d first been resurrected a week before: from the Mothyards and Steppes into the claustrophobic Dock 13, to the wide open battleground of the Divide where other Guardians fought a Devil spider tank, and then into the massive wall. Kristof only ran into a few Fallen scout parties, and was able to avoid them rather than fight head-on in most cases.

Finally, he emerged into the Gateway, a derelict highway of rusted cars leading right up to the Cosmodrome. Kristof felt a pang of nostalgia. Whoever he’d been in his previous life had died just atop this hill, just a few meters away from the masses of people trying to grab a spot on an Exodus ship as the Collapse began. Had he been one of those refugees? Or a scavenger during the Dark Age, who’d met an untimely end just before reaching the Cosmodrome?

Perhaps he’d even _been_ a citizen of Coyote. Though the highway stretched on to the southwest, the town was nestled in the plains just a few miles due south. Off in the distance was Felwinter Peak, an old bastion of the Iron Lords, and even further south was an abandoned Golden Age city. For all the technology on display in the Cosmodrome, Old Russia was too vast for humanity to completely coat with concrete.

After a quick descent and ascent down and back up the chasm separating the Gateway from the wilderness, Kristof summoned his sparrow once more as Ghost finished his story. The details were sparse, but supposedly the Six Coyotes were one of the first standout examples of Guardians banding together for a cause. Defending the town of Coyote against Fallen raiders, charting the Cosmodrome for the first time, and developing new abilities that Hunters would learn from and iterate on for years to come.

That was all well and good, even if it sounded a bit like an old folk story, but Coyote was no gleaming monument to the story nowadays. Nestled along a river, the long-dead remains of the town were blackened from age-old fires, buildings crushed to ruined pieces, dirt streets grown over or littered with debris. It seemed that the Hunters’ defense hadn’t lasted forever.

“Well, we’re looking for a rocket chassis?” Kristof asked confusedly, peering at the ruined buildings apprehensively. “How big of a rocket do Dead Orbit expect?”

“I’m not sure,” Ghost replied, appearing at the Warlock’s side. “I’ll try to do some scans for pre-Golden Age technology. You just look around.”

“Wouldn’t almost anything be pre-Golden Age technology?” Kristof said. “Like, if I found an old fork, that would count.”

Ghost narrowed his eye. “You know what I meant.”

The little light zipped off from the main path, leaving Kristof to wander rather aimlessly. He hadn’t seen any Fallen this side of the wall, so he lifted his helmet off his head. The old thing was rather uncomfortable, but he didn’t have the glimmer to buy a particularly nice set from City vendors just yet. Plus, he was kind of useless here. Plenty of time to enjoy the scenery.

Coyote’s ruins weren’t exactly pretty, but Kristof could practically feel the history here. In the same way that the Cosmodrome _felt_ like a grand place of ancient importance, Coyote felt ruinously homely. What was now a smoldering ruin was once a cozy house, or a comfortable inn, or a lively tavern. On the other side of the river was long dormant farmland.

And the smell. Kristof breathed in. Wet earth. Charred remains that somehow kept that ashy scent all these years later. A welcome change from the dry rust of the Cosmodrome, which was only penetrated by the stench of ozone in the air from all the Fallen’s arc weaponry. Or even worse, the Hive. They simply smelled like death.

Kristof approached a small wooden pier that stood on the river. Though the wood was rotting, it had stood the test of time thus far. The Warlock looked into the almost stagnant water, getting a good look at his reflection thanks to the morning sun. Stormy blue eyes, pronounced cheek bones. Dirty blond hair that parted at the middle, and seemed perpetually matted with sweat since he’d barely been back to the City. Though he’d been risen clean shaven, the faintest sign of a mustache was now growing on his lip. He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.

He splashed his face with water, and then dunked his entire head in. The water was cold enough to send a shiver down his spine, but he’d rather his hair look wet than greasy. He shook his hair out, letting it flop against either side of his head. _How productive_ , the Warlock thought.

But in that erratic head flipping, Kristof had noticed what was unmistakably a cairn a few meters away along the river. While the ruins of Coyote were mostly disheveled, this small pile of rocks was neatly arranged, with smooth stones that made a decently sized mound.

The Warlock walked back from the pier and knelt in front of the cairn. It was the only monument he could find for Coyote, which had obviously met a bitter end if the wreckage was anything to go bye. Kristof closed his eyes for a moment, meditating. According to Ghost, Warlocks tended to meditate randomly, whether to drift in thought, to calm themselves down, or to just get some rest on the field.

Kristof made a silent prayer for the lives lost here in Old Russia. He wasn’t sure how genuine it was – whatever unbroken faith many Guardians had in the Traveler as a god hadn’t quite reached him yet – but it felt right, in the moment. Especially considering this old town was apparently quite historically significant. He’d have to read up on it once he got back to the Tower.

Or maybe even _now_. For the Warlock now noticed the smallest sign of leather poking out from the cairn, buried beneath the rocks. He carefully lifted a few of the stones up, enough to discover a leather bound book hidden within. Intrigued, he moved aside even more of the cairn, and delicately lifted the book from the grave.

It was weathered more than any material he’d read from thus far, yet still had a strong weight to it. Kristof felt the realization that he was holding history in his hands. An exciting moment for a young Warlock scholar. Carefully, he flipped open the front cover, revealing the first page’s contents:

_The Seventeenth Diary of Himura Shinobu_

_Shinobu_. That was one of the Coyotes Ghost had just been telling him about. Intrigued, he read further.

_"Hello reader. Unfortunately, the sixteenth edition of my brilliant thoughts has been coopted by my father has fire kindling. Pity. I’ll need to find a new hiding spot._

_"Luckily, the Guardian Conar found this hunk of a journal for me within the wall. Supposedly it was for researchers taking notes on rockets and what-not, but any important pages have been torn away. I’ll have to be more careful hiding this one._

_"Conar seems antsier than usual. He still rarely speaks with us, but he hears seemingly everything. When we’re short on food, or other supplies. Or me complaining about losing my diary. I guess all Guardians are nice like that, even if they can be a little quiet._

_"But some people say that there have been more skiffs coming in and out of the Cosmodrome. I don’t really know if that’s true or not, but maybe that’s what Conar’s worried about. It’s hard to tell. He could be gone for five days at a time, but that’s just normal business I guess. Father tells me nothing’s wrong. Not sure I believe him."_

“Hey, what’d you find there?” It was Ghost, floating back over to Kristof as the Warlock strained his eyes to read the scratchy handwriting. “Doesn’t look like a rocket chassis.”

“No, something even better,” Kristof said, holding it up for Ghost to see. “A primary source.”

Ghost’s eye widened as he read the header within the journal. “Shinobu’s diary? Incredible!” His usual optimism seemed magnified to an extent only rivaled by the moment he’d resurrected Kristof for the first time. “It was just lying here?”

“Well, yeah,” Kristof replied, motioning towards the somewhat dismantled cairn. “I suppose this was her grave?”

Ghost’s tone finally simmered a little bit with the subject. “No, she had a proper City burial. I guess this must be a separate memorial someone made for her. This _was_ her birthplace, after all.”

Kristof nodded in understanding, then pursed his lips. “Do you mind if I just keep reading while you look around? I’m not really cut out for the whole sifting through wreckage thing.”

Thankfully, Ghost didn’t seem too interested in patrol bounties either. “Arach Jalaal can wait. I want to see this for myself.”

And so, the Voidwalker and his Ghost huddled together on the dirt as if it were a cozy rocking chair next to a hearth. For a Warlock, this was the closest thing to heaven.


	2. Mother of Ghosts

_"Rumor mill around town is going crazy. Word is Conar said off-handedly that another Guardian is on the way here. People aren’t sure what to make of it. I’m obviously thinking it’s in response to the increased Fallen activity, but who knows. With what little Conar gave us, we have to piece together the rest ourselves._

_"Regardless, town’s going nuts in response. We’re used to Conar, and he’s pretty low-key, but another Guardian? They’re decorating the streets with handmade streamers, readying a room in the inn (which I guess is finally justifying its existence), that sort of thing. I’m trying not to get caught up in the excitement, especially with Father assuring me he isn’t aware of the reasoning. But another Guardian… woah."_

* * *

Luckily for Himura, her shift for the week was at the stables, set right at the entrance to town. Caring for the town’s horses was one of the more relaxing jobs – one she might want to do long-term once she turned twenty-one. The horses had a lot of life, and seemed quite appreciative for the time with the stable-hands – it had to be stressful out in the frontier. Most of the poor animals had their share of scars from burns and shrapnel.

Conar was nice enough to never use the horses. It was obvious that with everything the Hunter got up to, any animal that came with him probably wouldn’t make it back. Yet early on a Wednesday morning, Himura spotted a horseman approaching the gates of Coyote. None of the town’s adults had left for patrol yet, and none of the horses had been taken out of the stables.

No, this was a stranger arriving to town. _The other Guardian_. Himura peered through the stable window, absent-mindedly brushing the mare at her side. Whatever self-restraint she had left was quickly evaporating. Here she was, waiting at the entrance to town, able to be the first to greet this new Guardian.

Himura just hoped that this other lightbearer was a little friendlier. Conar was great, he did so much for Coyote, but he didn’t mingle. Especially not in the past few weeks. The Hunter only seemed interested in recharging with food and sleep within Coyote’s wooden walls, listening for requests from the townsfolk but never making conversation.

She supposed that a Guardian wasn’t obliged to do otherwise. But they were heroes. Though Coyote was an ocean away from the Last City, word got out. Every travelling merchant that made their way from the other towns around Old Russia had new stories to tell. The story of Dredgen Yor, Saint-14 headbutting the Kell of Devils, all sorts of tales. Stories worthy of beings literally resurrected by the Traveler thousands of miles away.

Conar told no such stories, and Himura doubted he was the subject of any. From what the people of Coyote could gather, he was off doing his own thing here: scouting the Cosmodrome for the City over the course of many months now, since it was apparently important back in the Golden Age. It wasn’t exciting work to think about, but the Hunter seemed happy enough. When he spent a waking hour in the town’s saloon, he seemed enthralled by his scratch paper and drawings. Of course, that all might be played up to dissuade eager townsfolk for autographs or requests.

As the Guardian approached, Himura placed her tools aside and patted the horse a temporary goodbye. This wasn’t _nerve-wracking_ per se, but meeting a Guardian felt like it required a certain level of dignity. A couple hours into her morning work had left her with dust to wipe off her hands and sweat to shake away. Not nearly the warm welcome Coyote felt a Guardian called for.

Yet, as Himura stepped outside and waited for the Guardian’s approach, she felt calm. The figure raised a hand and waved enthusiastically, pulling back their hood from atop the steed. Another Hunter. But decidedly different.

“Hello, young lady,” the Hunter called, trotting up slowly. Her voice was metallic, emitting from a flashing hole in her face that approximated a mouth. “Don’t suppose you have room in this stable for one more?”

“Of course,” Himura said enthusiastically, carefully taking the reins of the horse as the Hunter stepped off. The Guardian shook her cloak out, spreading a bit of dust about, and looked kindly down at Himura. There was over a foot and a half of height difference, triggering a belittled feeling Himura thought she’d never have again since turning eighteen.

But the Hunter was anything but belittling. Instead, her robotic face wore the kindest smile Himura had ever seen. “Thank you so much. It’s been a long journey for us. This poor maverick was out in the wild before I befriended him. I suspect he could use some rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Himura said, realizing the Guardian had ridden all this way without a saddle. That was a way with animals the Traveler must have to gift you.

The Guardian followed Himura into the stable, smiling at nothing in particular. “And what’s your name, young lady?”

“Himura Shinobu.” Himura reined the Guardian’s horse into an empty pen with hay and water already set up. “Welcome to Coyote, by the way. I know our town isn’t much, but we hope you feel welcome.”

“Please.” The Guardian leaned against a wooden fence, petting a horse that seemed instantly taken with her. “I’m a guest here. Thank you all for opening your doors for me.”

After a beat, where Himura was silently working on getting the new horse accommodated, the Guardian spoke up. “I suppose you’ve all been expecting me, then.”

“Well, yeah. Conar must’ve mentioned it to someone,” Himura replied, trying to play it cool. “We don’t really get Guardian visitors, so it’s kind of a big deal.”

“It shouldn’t be,” the Guardian said, and walked up to the teenager. She bent down slightly, so that she was at eye level with the mere mortal. “I’m Micah. And I’m just a person like the rest of you all.”

Himura narrowed her eyes at the Guardian. “Micah what?”

“10.” Micah-10 smiled once more as she rose back to her true height. “You’re a shrewd one.”

“I know what exos are. Even if you’re the first one I’ve seen,” Himura said, finishing with some rope tying and then leaning nervously away from the Guardian. “You’re the Den-Mother.”

“Is that what they’re calling me now?” Micah shook her head.

“The Mother of Ghosts,” Himura continued, unable to contain the awe in her voice. “I heard about you just a few months ago. They say you travel with a pack of ghosts, leading them all to their Guardians safe and sound.”

“That sounds about right. Although I’m not sure it bears the need for a title.”

“Well, if it’s true, then where are all your ghosts?”

Micah’s smile warmed again, and she held out a hand. There, an orange and black ghost appeared, blinking from existence and fluttering up to the Guardian’s head. “This is Rook. My ghost. Though my pack is admittedly small at the moment.”

Micah fumbled around with a pouch on her gear, and out zipped another ghost. This one was the basic model, as if it had just been birthed by the Traveler: shining white, blue eyed, and looking around frantically.

“This little guy’s Pup. He’s the last of my, um, _litter_ , if we’re to use the analogy,” Micah-10 explained. “I’ve been travelling nearly half a year with a group of ghosts, and this fella right here is the last one who hasn’t found his Guardian yet. I’m stopping off her to meet with Conar before I head back to the Last City and pick up a bunch more.”

Pup stopped moving so erratically and floated over to Himura. He stared at her from only a few feet away, his digital eye narrowing intently. Himura felt the strange urge to reach out and pet the little guy.

“I should mention he’s mute,” Micah-10 said, “Which isn’t, um, normal.”

At the sound of this, Pup seemed somewhat offended, and his brief fascination with Himura vanished. The ghost zipped out of the stable, accordingly without saying a word. “He’ll be fine, just off to go looking around Coyote for any bodies. Who knows, right?”

Himura nodded, as if she knew the first thing about ghosts, and stared back awkwardly. Micah-10 was a lot to take in. She was shorter than Conar, still dominating the teenager in that regard, but not having the superhero stature Himura thought was required of Guardians. Her face was pretty, sleek and yellow with white optics. For an exo, it retained a jovial nature that reminded Himura of her departed grandmother.

Micah’s armor was not nearly as friendly a story. What might’ve been close to chrome once was now rusted in some places, caked with month-old mud in others. Her black threaded cloak was torn in more places than not, and a few tears in her chest piece left the exo body exposed. A ghost could heal its Guardian well enough, but maybe not their fashion. And half a year in the frontier had taken its toll.

“Well it was lovely meeting you, Ms. Shinobu,” the Hunter said politely, “But I did come to Coyote to meet with my colleague Conar. Any idea where I might find him?”

Himura nodded. “If he’s in town, the bar on our main street. If he’s not there, he’s hunting. In which case, I supposed you’d better wait.”

“I suppose so,” Micah replied, smiling warmly at the teenager once more. “Thank you. I hope to run into you again during my stay.”

“We’ll take good care of your horse,” Himura said. “And, um, I hope you like warm welcomes.”

* * *

Micah-10, Guardian of the Last City, sure got a warm welcome in Coyote like she’d never known.

Conar was unfortunately not in town this Wednesday morning, so she decided to wait at the table in the saloon the owner said Conar usually occupied. Micah simply pored over some notes she’d taken on her journey through Eurasia, sipping on some root juice, when word got around Coyote that the other Guardian had arrived.

It’d been hard to miss the streamers and signs placed in front of every little house and small business in the town of Coyote celebrating her arrival, but they’d been easy enough to ignore early in the morning. The over-bearing of the townsfolk’s excitement was impossible to avoid once they realized a real-life Guardian was just sitting in a booth in the building next door.

By noon, the bar was swarmed with people, taking the day off from farming, woodworking, or even patrol just to get a look at the new Guardian. Micah happily signed a few autographs, though the first request left her more confused than flattered. A few people asked where her caravan of ghosts was, and were left disappointed when she explained there was just one, and he was off looking for his chosen at the moment.

But even in the moments where Micah was able to happily peruse through her writing on east European weather patterns – vital information for a Hunter – she could feel eyes on her at all times. In the Last City, Guardians were looked at with a certain reverence, but they were normal there. Micah’d always been more nomadic – she was a Hunter, after all – but she’d never gotten used to that feeling of unrivaled awe that came from people laying eyes on a Guardian for the first time.

Or a slightly famous one, in her case. The Mother of Ghosts was a nickname Micah had first heard maybe a decade ago in Australis, when some villager spotted her with a train of thirty little lights. The stories of her adventures had gotten around, and most of them were grossly exaggerated. She’d heard versions where she was some kind of incarnate soul of the Traveler, leading its children to safety. Or others where she and the dark Guardian Cyrell had had a standoff like an old spaghetti western.

Micah wished that she’d killed the ghost killer. But alas, the tales spun up about her seemed more fascinating than the reality. And that never bothered her. She was doing good work, mapping out general Fallen territory while ensuring that more apprehensive ghosts had ample time and space to scour the Earth for their eternal partner. It was work assigned by the Vanguard, work that never seemed too daring. And she liked it just fine.

The mild celebrity was a bit annoying, though, so when the crowd in the saloon hushed up suddenly, Micah’s mind went to ease. The door had opened, revealing another Hunter, clad in Old Russian military gear that aimed to intimidate rather than invite. Though Conar was well known in Coyote, he was given plenty of space by the residents. Any guess at his demeanor was thwarted by the gas mask he’d fashioned into a helmet, an efficient dissuader from unwelcome conversation.

Micah-10 was not so easily thrown off, however. She stood from the booth and met the other Hunter halfway across the room, excitedly raising both arms. “Conar! It’s great to finally see you in person again!”

Conar grunted, apparently unaware of the concept of friendly hugs between Guardians, and brushed past the Mother of Ghosts for his usual booth. If exos could blush, Micah might’ve, but the rest of the townsfolk knew better than to stare.

Micah slid back into the booth, where Conar was pulling some scratch paper out of his backpack. Physical storage seemed obsolete to someone with a ghost, but it didn’t surprise her that Conar preferred things the old fashioned way. The bartender silently placed a glass of water on the table in front of Conar, making a quick nod before walking back away.

“You know, if I didn’t know otherwise, I’d guess these folks were afraid of you,” Micah mused, crossing her arms.

Conar spread a crudely drawn map flat against the table, offering the crinkles of old paper has an initial response. “You know I’m not here to chit chat.”

“Of course not,” Micah sighed, looking down at the map. “Is this some map of supply caches in the region?”

Conar grunted approval. “Most are within the walls. I can guide you to a few of them. Help you stock up. You could scavenge an old fighter jet, get back to the City quicker.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve enjoyed taking the scenic route,” Micah replied, patting the table assuredly. “I’ll take you up on the tour, though. I’d love to see the Cosmodrome for myself.”

Micah was here in Coyote for a quick pit stop rather than a sight-seeing trip, but the Cosmodrome had looked impressive from a distance on her approach to Coyote. For all the place’s she’d been on Earth, this was by far the largest spaceport she’d had the opportunity to visit. And why not, if Conar’s stashes were inside it anyways?

“We can leave soon, then. I have to make some adjustments,” Conar said, folding up the map of caches and sliding it over to Micah’s side of the table. It was almost immediately replaced by another sheet of scratch paper, on which the Hunter scribbled furiously. Micah tried to make it out, but it was practically illegible. For Conar’s eyes only, she supposed.

And there she waited for a few moments longer, watching as Conar seldom moved except for writing and taking sip of water through a straw that slipped under his gas mask. The Hunter would’ve made much better partners with Pup than he could even know, Micah thought to herself. She barely spared a thought for the last ghost, off exploring on its own at the moment. Lone ghosts tended to do that. It was hard to sit still when your soulmate was out there.

Though how boring must it be for your soulmate to be so reserved? Micah hadn’t seen Conar’s ghost, never had even when she knew him back from their young days building up the City, but that had to be a lousy break. Stuck with a Guardian who never spoke. Or at least, only spoke in transactions. A miserable experience.

Conar was a nice guy. He was a Guardian, after all, and he hadn’t gone off the deep end. He was here in Coyote, helping these people, but Micah-10 was glad he was out here in the wild. A Guardian like Conar wouldn’t really mesh with big Vanguard operations. Some Hunters just couldn’t operate like that.

She understood, sometimes. That yearning to be independent was what led her to take on her current job. And though Micah spent plenty of time meeting new people, newly resurrected Guardians even, she relished that quiet. She loved Rook, and could speak with him for hours without getting bored, but the feeling of being out on the frontier with nothing but the wind in your ears… It was something every Hunter dreamed about.

But other times, she wondered how people could stay sane on their own like that. The best part of her job was finding new Guardians and sending them on their way to the Last City. Seeing the awe in their eyes, guiding them through the initial fear, being the one to share in their excitement as the opportunity set in with them… It was all a feeling she wouldn’t trade for any other responsibility a Guardian could take on. A life like Conar’s, with no fireteam, no people to make it particularly special, Micah would get so unbearably lonely.

Conar seemed to find it incredibly fulfilling, though, as with a flourish of satisfaction in his gravelly voice, he suddenly said “I’m ready. Let’s head for the wall.” He was packing away his map, apparently having added enough incoherent scribbles to his own cartography. Micah nodded in confirmation, and followed the Hunter out the door, trying to avoid the stares of the people of Coyote. Their wide eyes spoke volumes.

**Author's Note:**

> If it wasn't obvious enough, Kristof is my canon Guardian in this series. Don't get too excited, though - he's really just a framing device for this story.
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading! It means the world to me that there's an audience for this stuff.


End file.
